


Stay

by SaraNoH, sleepygrimm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Healing, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Retirement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraNoH/pseuds/SaraNoH, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygrimm/pseuds/sleepygrimm
Summary: Steve wasn't expecting retirement.  And he certainly wasn't expecting Natasha to join him as he waits for Wakandan scientists to clear Bucky's mind.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the romanogers big bang challenge. Artwork inspired by this fic was done by **sleepygrimm** and can be found [here](http://romanogersweek.tumblr.com/post/163152670110/sleepygrimm-romanogersweek-2017-mini-big-bang).
> 
> Thanks to **thewordbutler** for the beta.

Steve’s head was full of myriad thoughts as he walked back to the suite T’Challa was letting him stay in. He’d stayed after his conversation with the Wakandan king to watch Bucky go back into cryofreeze walking along the chamber down corridors and into its secured storage area in a science lab. The entire way, he’d tried to erase the sensation of Peggy’s casket weighing down on his shoulder.

He’d stood there against the wall for a couple of hours, watching a team of scientists flitter about. Some nodded in his direction; one or two walked up and told him that this would be a slow and complicated process. Steve didn’t need reminded of that fact.

Eventually, exhaustion settled on him so deep he couldn’t shake it off anymore. He'd looked once more at what he could see of Bucky’s face and tried to remind himself that his best friend was safe. He had no way of knowing what exactly that looked like, but T’Challa seemed honest and honorable enough to keep his word. Now that the true murderer of Wakanda’s previous king was taken care of, the heir to the throne didn’t have any unsettled deaths to avenge and had dropped his need to go after Bucky.

So here Steve was, walking through the halls of an African palace, relying on his super soldier memory to guide his feet in the direction he was told to go. A palm scanner was to the right of the numbered door, and he placed his hand against the cool black surface. A word in a language he didn’t recognize flashed green, and the lock on the door unhinged with a soft click before the entrance hissed open. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walked into the suite, but Natasha sitting on the kitchen counter eating a bowl of ice cream wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. “You need a better shopping list,” she commented. “Someone with your physique won’t die from eating gelato instead of this ‘non-dairy frozen treat’ bullshit.”

Thanks to leading the Avengers for the last two years, Steve could recognize Natasha on edge when he saw it. “What are you doing here?”

“Raiding your fridge,” she answered around a mouthful of frozen whatever.

“And after that?” he questioned.

She shrugged and gracefully hopped down off the counter. “Maybe you and Clint and have the right idea about this retirement thing.”

Steve couldn’t help surprise from crossing his face. Natasha would see it in his body anyway since she could read him much easier than he could read her. “Surprised you didn’t help me bust the team out of The Raft.”

“Who do you think sent you the location and the schematics for the place?”

“Thought it was Tony,” Steve answered.

Natasha shook her head. “Still licking his wounds. And probably wanted to keep the people with superpowers who were pissed at him locked a way for a little bit longer until they cooled off.”

“So why didn’t you help me?” he asked a second time.

“Not a fan of being a prisoner. Wasn’t sure how things would go down if I showed up there.” She waved him off before he could argue. “I know you wouldn’t lock me away, but someone else might have. And I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“Like eat my ice cream?” Steve questioned.

“Apparently, that’s all there’s left for me to do,” she muttered.

Steve watched her for a moment, and she raised her green eyes to meet his. A challenge in the form of a stare down, something he’d encountered too many times to count since they’d met. “You here for Bucky, for me, or someone else?”

“Definitely not the third,” she answered. “Haven’t decided between the first two. Does that matter?”

“Not yet, I guess,” Steve replied.

“Good. Want a roommate?” 

“I have a feeling that you’re not going to give me much choice in the matter,” Steve answered.

“Thank goodness, because I already unpacked. I took the bedroom with the huge tub. Let me know if you ever want to share,” she offered, a mischievous look in her eye. It wasn’t the first time she’d made an offer like that in the time he’d known her, and he once again chalked it up with her constant need to mess with him. And everyone around her, really.

“I need to sleep,” he announced. “Which room’s mine?”

“On the left,” she told him, moving back to the fridge. “I’m going to find out how to get some different food. Man cannot live on kale alone, Steve.”

He half-snorted at her proverb as he moved deeper into the suite. He—well, they—had been given a place to stay that seemed unnecessary in both size and plushness. The décor had a tribal look to it, but nothing garish and over the top. Wood carvings and masks were scattered around in an aesthetically pleasing manner to his artist’s eye. The windows on the south side of the suite overlooked the Wakandan capital. Steve would want to take it in, but later. 

His belongings were already in his room. He wasn’t sure if T’Challa’s people or Natasha had placed them there, and at the moment, he didn’t care. There was a bed, and that was all he needed. He stripped down to and undershirt and boxer-briefs and crawled under the sheets. The mattress was too soft for his liking but he’d live with it. He grabbed an extra pillow and covered his face to block out the sunlight. He tried to quiet thoughts about what he would do now while he waited for developments on Bucky, was out of contact from the Avengers, and in a different land. He hadn’t remembered any other time in his life where his future was so open and terrifyingly uncertain. At least it seemed like he had plenty of time to figure things out.

Steve awoke three hours later to the smell of roasting meat. He pulled his jeans back on, but not his shirt. He and Natasha, due to having to change in and out of uniform in all kinds of places and situations, had seen each other in far less. Natasha was in the kitchen turning kebobs on a grill pan. She’d made a dozen with varying meats and vegetables, Steve recognizing only half of them immediately. “Since when do you cook?” he asked.

“I have all kinds of talents you don’t know about,” she countered as she plated the food. Three of the kebobs for her, nine for him. It was possible she meant it as a joke about his increased appetite thanks to the super soldier serum, but right now, he was pretty sure he could clean both his plate and hers. “There’s a table outside, if you want. And wine. Not the Asgardian kind, so you probably won’t get drunk. But if you want a glass, go for it. Otherwise, I’m drinking straight from the bottle.”

Over dinner, Steve caught Natasha up on what all went down while freeing their friends from prison and what T’Challa and the scientists told him about Bucky. “Am I allowed to ask how you know him? Other than him shooting you in Turkey.”

She eyed him while swirling the too fruity white wine in her mouth. “What makes you sure I knew him before that?” she asked after swallowing.

“Never mind,” he sighed. “I’m not in the mood to deal with picking through your lies.”

She studied him a moment more before he watched her soften the tiniest bit. “He trained me. Or was one of my trainers in the Red Room.”

“And that’s how you had the file on him that you gave me?”

“That’s the abbreviated version, yes,” she answered. “But I’m not going to give you the full one.”

Steve shrugged and they remained silent for fifteen minutes, watching the sun slip below the city’s skyline. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted quietly. “Told Tony to call me if he needed me, but I don’t see him doing that any time soon.”

“That makes two of us,” Natasha agreed.

“Two of us being ignored by Tony or—“

“Both,” she said before picking up his dishes and slipping back inside. 

Steve wanted to push more, but knew that it would be fruitless. Either she’d spin some story or shut him out completely. So instead, he watched the sky grow dark and waited for the first stars to emerge.

* * *

Steve fell into a trance, letting the pencil move freely across the thick sketch pad. Curled hair, full lips, and detailed attention to medals on uniforms. This image was from memory, at least the people in it, not necessarily the scene. He’d always imagined that if he and Peggy married, they’d both wear their uniforms. He drew what he thought they’d look like standing at the altar.

Once that image was complete, he knew what else he needed to draw, but his hand hesitated. These two faces were ones he’d never seen before and never would: two daughters. One born within a year of the war coming to an end, the other four years later. The older would inherit her father’s insecurity about being good enough and her mother’s keen intelligence. The younger daughter would have been a frightening combination of Steve’s stubbornness and Peggy’s non-stop energy. During the war, he let himself imagine what life could be like with his little family. He kept himself from naming the imaginary daughters, and he never told Peggy about it. But the idea kept him warm and sane on several cold and dreadful nights.

He tore the page with the pair of sketches out for the notebook, studying them for a moment. Just then, the door to the suite opened and Natasha walked in. Steve tucked the torn page back inside the notebook and rose from the couch to greet her. He found her in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer. Once he caught sight of her face, he couldn’t help but recoil. Natasha caught his expression and scowled at him—at least until the facial movement caused her pain and she softly groaned. Steve grabbed a clean rag from a drawer and doused it with cold water. “What happened?” he asked as he washed sweat and a couple trickles of blood from her face.

“Heard of the Dora Milaje?”

“Aren’t they T’Challa’s private guard or something?”

Natasha nodded. “I apparently pissed off one of his bodyguards back at the accord signings. Hopefully, she has it out of her system.”

“Did she jump you?” Steve asked, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.

Her look shifted into one of insult. “You think I fell into a trap?”

“Guess I forgot who I was talking to for a second,” he replied with a slight smile.

“I offered to spar with them. Without my suit. Won’t make that mistake again.” She snagged his fingers and held them up to the one eye that did have an ice pack pressed against it. “Drawing?” she questioned, noting the smudges of lead on his fingertips.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Natasha studied him, something that used to spark frustration in him but now he was used to it. And he’d learned in their time together that her opinion and assessment of situations and people were fairly accurate and saved everyone a lot of time and trouble when they listened to her gut. “Nothing important, or none of my business?”

Steve turned and rinsed her blood from the rag. “Just my personal way to try and say bye to Peggy. Haven’t had a chance to do that yet.”

“I can leave you alone if—“

“Nah,” he said. “C’mon.” He led her into the living room and together they sat on the couch. He pulled the sketch out and handed it to her. “I’ve learned to not even bother trying to hide stuff from you.”

Natasha set down the ice pack to better appreciate and analyze his art. “I’m sorry you didn’t get this life.”

“I’ve mostly come to accept it. But every now and then, I get knocked down by it again.”

Natasha passed him back the drawing. “Can I ask a blunt and personal question?”

“Would it stop you if I said ‘no?’”

“Yes,” Natasha answered seriously.

The reply slightly stunned Steve for a second with its honesty, and he wondered if he needed to do a more thorough intake of her sparring injuries. “Ask,” he said.

“Did you have that kiss in the parking garage because her first name is Sharon or because her last name is Carter?”

He felt a hot rush of embarrassment flood his cheeks and ears. He tried to think of a polite answer, but Natasha could spot a lie—especially one of his—ten miles away.

“We both figured it was the latter,” Natasha told him. “She’s not offended about it, by the way, but I wouldn’t do it again for that particular reason.”

“I won’t,” Steve swore.

“Sounds like you’ve gotten some practice since we kissed. Wanna tell me about it?” Natasha pushed.

“Maybe Sharon’s a bad kisser like me and doesn’t know any better,” Steve challenged.

“She’s not bad kisser,” Natasha replied instantly and with sure confidence. That caused Steve’s brain to fill with a thousand unexpected and enticing images. “Who’s the lucky girl?” Natasha prodded.

“No one,” he answered.

“Lucky guy?”

“I said no one,” he repeated.

She shrugged and stood from the couch. “Finish what you were doing. I’m going to take full advantage of that soaker tub, and then you and I are going to find the closest thing Wakanda has to pizza and beer.”

He watched her go before staring one last time at the three faces that had occupied so many of his thoughts. Once he’d said his goodbyes to them, he lit the gas fireplace and laid the sketch in the flames.

* * *

It was weird to consider himself retired. He now fully appreciated Sam’s comment about only taking orders from himself. T’Challa had given Steve and Natasha near total free reign of the palace. Clearly, some areas that dealt with private and internal Wakandan issues were off-limits—not that Steve wanted to deal with them anyway. He and Natasha worked out each day, sometimes together and sometimes not. Out of habit, they’d kept up with the news from around the world—both the events for public consumption and those that were kept quiet. But Steve soon gave up on that, too. He knew Natasha never would, and if something needed his attention, she’d tell him. He checked in on Bucky daily. The medical team and scientists were still trying to make heads or tails of Bucky’s brain scans and how the KGB had pulled off what they did for decades. The doctors swore they were making progress, but Steve had never been good with patience.

“Forget to shave?” Natasha asked one morning over breakfast.

They’d been in Wakanda for six weeks now. Steve ran a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “Thought I’d try something new.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because you weren’t hot enough to begin with? You have to throw a beard into the mix now, too?”

Steve brushed off the compliment. Natasha was a habitual flirt with everyone around her. Give her five minutes, and she’d start listing all the Wakandan women she was ready to set him up with.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he unlocked the screen to read a text requesting him to come to the medical lab. He told Natasha about the message. “Mind if I tag along?” she asked.

“Let’s go,” he replied. It was a good idea for her to join. That way, at least one of them would be able to focus and listen to everything that was said. 

He had to keep himself from running to the medical ward. They could be calling him to tell him there was nothing they could do. Or Bucky could be finally free of ice for the rest of his life. Steve’s heart thudded in his chest and felt his thoughts start to spin out of control.

“Breathe,” Natasha ordered as they approached the door the medical unit. He nodded his thanks and took a deep breath before walking in. 

The chief doctor and his team were gathered and waiting for them. The older man greeted Steve with a smile. “We think we have found a way to bring back your friend.”


End file.
